


George Bailey, I'll Love You Til the Day I Die

by little_murmaider



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Christmas Movies, M/M, Pretty inexcusable holiday sap, Yuletide Cheer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider
Summary: The year after Murderface's disastrous holiday special, the band agrees to keep Christmas low key.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this super quick while going to and from Christmas dinner, so it's a little rough. But! I love Christmas and It's a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite movies of all time. Here is some very saccharine shit and I make no apologies.

After Murderface’s disastrous holiday special, the one that reaped countless psychological scars on both the band and the public at large, it’s agreed to keep Christmas low key. They don't put up a tree, but they do hang a few decorations, even eat a big fancy meal together. They don't exchange gifts, either, not exactly. The accident on set the year prior fractured several vertebrae in Toki’s spine, so as a make-up gesture Nathan, Pickles and Skwisgaar agree not to protest too vocally to whatever unmetal joyful tidings Toki is compelled to inflict upon them. Nathan’s continual threats to beat Murderface to a pulp if he tried any shit this year keeps the evening in check.  
  
Toki’s still pretty gun shy about expressing any sort of enthusiasm for the season. He does, however, use the opportunity to corral all of them into the rec room for a Christmas Movie Marathon. It's not brutal, but Skwisgaar concedes because he’s got nothing better to do. (Not to mention, every time he's alone the image of that fuckwit clown getting a handie from his mom pops up and since he can't bleach his brain free of _that_ this is a suitable alternative.)  
  
Pickles makes up a drinking game to get them through the Rankin Bass stop motion nightmares (“Drink ev’ry time the animation stalls! Drink fer ev’ry musical break!”) so Skwisgaar’s got a steady buzz going by the time they roll around to _It’s a Wonderful Life_. He's never seen it. He expects some trechaly diatribe about the importance of _family_ and _love_ and all those other inconsequential, hollow sentiments stupid people use to shield themselves from the misery of their meaningless lives. He's not wrong, but he's also pleasantly surprised by how depressing it is. The guys, save Toki, echo his disposition.  
  
“You know I never realized how **DARK** this movie is,” Nathan says.  
  
“Yeah. This schad schack schpends hisch whole life getting kicked around by regular jack offs, devotesch all hisch time and money trying to schave a biznesh he hatesh, never leavesch the town that’sh deshtroying hisch shoul, and what doesh he have to schow for it? Hisch dumbassh drunk uncle losesch $8,000 and he'sh left holding the bag.”  
  
“More Christmas movies should hinge on the main character attempting to kill himself for insurance money.”  
  
“Fun fact,” Pickles pipes in, cracking open another beer. “This wasn’t orig’nally meant ta be a Christmas movie! It was public dahmain, so teevee stations started airin’ it aroun’ Christmas cause they were runnin’ low ahn progreemin’."  
  
“How'd you know that?” Nathan asks.  
  
“Dood, when I'm hammered sometimes I'll, like, mainline reendim IMDB pages. Neva know what’ll stick. Hey, didya know tha robot shark in _Jaws_ was named Bruce?”  
  
Toki sits beside Skwisgaar, their knees tepidly pressed together. Skwisgaar’s guitar had gone abandoned for the evening, at Nathan’s insistence to, “make a goddamn effort, for once.” He’d slung one arm over the back of the couch and rested the other in the space between his and Toki’s legs. Warmth radiates from Toki’s thigh, ensconces Skwisgaar’s hand like a glove. On screen, the sad sack flirts with his charming love interest.  
  
_“What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.”_  
  
_“I'll take it! Then what?”_  
  
_“Well, then you can swallow it, and it'll all dissolve, see... and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair... am I talking too much?”_  
  
Skwisgaar feels something creep along his skin and flinches, thinking it’s some kind of bug. Instead, he sees Toki’s hand inching closer to his own. He burrows his fingers beneath Skwisgaar’s, just to the second knuckle, and stills. Skwisgaar glances over and tries to read Toki’s expression. Is this a prank, a saccharine attempt to catch him being nice to be mocked later? Toki’s face, trained intently on the screen, betrays no intention. Skwisgaar thinks of outting him, exposing his sappiness for the rest of the group, but the unexpected bleakness of the film has him in a magnanimous mood. So he lets Toki be a little weird, for Christmas. After last year’s fiasco, Skwisgaar has to admit he’s earned it.  
  
“Ceen I say somethin’? Donna Reed is a feckin’ _smokeshow_ , right?”  
  
“Right? Yes. Totally.”  
  
“When she schmashes that record?”  
  
“I'd let her smash...me…”  
  
“Ya gahtta admire a girl who screams at her mahm to shaddup so she can get some dick.”  
  
It hasn’t gone beyond Skwisgaar’s notice that Toki twisted his hand sideways, loosely entwining their fingers, their palms untouching. At this point Skwisgaar’s willing to let it play out. The gesture is out of sight from the other guys, anyway. Plus, reluctant though he may be to say so, it isn't the worst feeling in the world.  
  
Skwisgaar’s shocked how invested he is in this earnest bullshit. By the time the sad sack is shown how dismal the world is without his worthless little life, a feeling vaguely resembling sympathy permeates his apathetic demeanor. The concept that even his smallest actions can have ripples of unforeseen, positive consequence stirs something in him, makes him unconsciously draw Toki closer.  
  
He doesn't know what comes over him. Maybe Christmas spirit is some type of airborne virus and he's been infected, causing his heart to engorge to triple its size. Maybe that's what creates the alien sense of fullness in his chest. It’ll pass soon enough. But when they reach the end of the film, and those final words flash on screen-- ** _No man is a failure who has friends_** \--he squeezes Toki’s hand tight, doesn't deflect the feeling of gratitude when Toki squeezes back.  
  
While the credits roll Pickles stretches as he rises. “Alright, Toki. I think we indulged ya enough. Who's up fer some good ol’ fashioned holiday drinkin’ games?”  
  
He exits and Nathan trails him, Murderface not far behind. “We’re not playing pong again cause Murderface cheats like a motherfucker.”  
  
“Jealouschy is _extremely_ unattractive on you, Nathan.”  
  
“Someone treek dawhn Offdensen and we’ll play Civil War. I'm gonna fuck dat guy up so beed.”  
  
Skwisgaar and Toki linger, hands still entangled. Skwisgaar doesn't know what to make of this, doesn't know why the idea of letting go makes him so anxious. For the first time all night Toki looks at him and smiles.  
  
“Pretty goods movie, huh?”  
  
Skwisgaar scoffs. “Eh. Ain’ts de woirst t’ings I ever seens.”  
  
Toki studies him, and Skwisgaar can't shake the feeling Toki knows something he doesn't. It both infuriates and fascinates him. Toki’s smile widens and Skwisgaar can’t stop himself, smiles back.  
  
“Merries Christmas, Skwisgaar.”  
  
“You toos, Toki.”  
  
Toki yanks him to his feet and finally releases, slaps him too hard on the back. “My gift to yous ams I gonna kicks you ass ats Civil Wars rights now,”  
  
“I’d likes to sees you tries.”


End file.
